Page 69 of Kissing Kayley
“Sure. Upstairs in my office. The one that used to be Leo’s, and you’ll see my nameplate on the door. Door’s unlocked. Take as long as you need.” He looked at Vic and I sensed from Jordan’s furrowed brow that he currently felt a protective kind of way about me.
Ironic. Considering he was younger and I’d been worried about his well-being ever since I’d learned he’d departed DC for Florida because my stupid brother was a stupid man. Before Elliot brought Jordan back, that was.
“Thanks.” I led the way, Vic following.
He caught up to me. “I’m sorry I missed your texts, baby. It’s been insane around here. I was going to call you later tonight.”
“It’s okay.”
It wasn’t, but I refused to be a petty bitch.
Not about this, anyway.
Besides, he was literally at work, on the clock, and no way in hell would I pitch a tantrum about this. He wasn’t a cashier at a convenience store—he literally protected POTUS. He had enough stress to deal with right now.
Once we were alone with a closed door between us and the rest of the world, I didn’t waste any time.
“I take it you’re staying in DC?” Although I felt reasonably confident I already knew that answer. “Not coming back to LA with me for the rest of your leave?”
“I’m sorry. All hands on deck, given the circumstances. All leaves cancelled. I’m sorry about our vacation.” He sighed. “Again.”
“Yeah, so am I. But it’s not anyone’s fault. At least we had a week together.”
Well, it absolutely was the fault of Stella Woodley’s husband’s grandiosely narcissistic, psychopathic bullshit, and his psychopathic buddies, but since Ellis and Stella were both dead now I felt that could safely remain unsaid.
“We didn’t get to finish our talk,” he noted.
“No, we didn’t.” Yes, I should be plowing into this but I dreaded it. The air in the office felt thick and heavy and horribly stifling, and it had nothing to do with the literal atmosphere.
He glanced at his watch. “Baby, I need to be downstairs in the supervisor’s office in five. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to keep apologizing.” In fact, every apology felt like needles raking across my soul. “You’ve got a job to do. I get it.”
He studied me for a long moment and I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say. I wanted him, wanted to be with him, wanted him to actively choosemeover his career—yet I felt guilty as hell for wanting to put myself above the obvious needs of theliteralfucking country.
He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Table it again? For now, until all this blows over?”
I made myself nod. “Yeah. Sure.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “I love you.”
I blinked back the sting of tears threatening to burst free. I refused to do that to him, to make him feel guilty for a situation that wasn’t in any way his fault.
“I love you, too,” I said. “Please stay safe.”
He pulled me into his arms and slanted a long, gentle kiss across my lips. “You, too, baby,” he said before releasing me and opening the door. “I’ll text you later.” With that, he headed out.
I leaned back against the desk and the space was so small I could reach out with my foot and gently nudge the door to shut it.
Only then did I close my eyes and cry, because… Iknew.
Iknew.
I couldn’t make myself demand he choose me over the Secret Service any more than he’d demand I choose him over my career.
And, until one of us could do that, I would always come second to The Shift.
Because Vic was just like Leo and Chris Bruunt in many ways, and that’s exactly how they’d choose. The greater good over themselves. Service before self.
